


Bonding

by grey2510



Series: Light's Grace!verse [17]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brotherly Bonding, Conversations, Developing Relationship, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, F/M, Fallen Angel Castiel, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Charlie Bradbury, POV Dean Winchester, Relationship Advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-02 13:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4061122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/pseuds/grey2510
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam get some brotherly bonding time at a bar after a case. Meanwhile, back in Kansas, Charlie decides the boys being out on a case is the perfect opportunity for some girl time with Claire and some besties time with Cas.</p><p>Canon-divergent after 10x14 and follows the events of the previous parts of the Light's Grace!verse. (Although, this could be read mostly as a stand alone piece. There are very very brief mentions of events in "Shore Leave" and "Choices", but nothing too earth shattering.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wingman

**Author's Note:**

> "Choices" was kind of rough, especially for Sam, so I needed a little fluff (or promise of future fluff).
> 
>  
> 
> **LG!V TIMELINE: January 2016**  
> 

“Dean, I don’t need a wingman. Plus, you suck at it.”

Dean cocks an eyebrow at his brother. “Waddya mean? I’m an awesome wingman.” Taking a sip of his beer, he starts surveying the bar for someone for Sammy, who has currently pulled an exasperated bitchface; Dean suspects it won’t be the last of the evening.

“I don’t know what planet you’ve been living on, but before Cas, you either snaked girls away from me or were way too busy working on your own hook up to give a shit. Now, post-Cas, you’re way too whipped to be a wingman.”

The older Winchester chokes on his beer. “I am not whipped!”

Sam smirks. “Uh huh. So wanna explain to me why last night you spent half of our ‘brotherly bonding time’ outside the bar with your phone glued to your ear?”

“Whatever. And hey, you got that chick’s number—what was it, Alicia or something?—while I was gone, so don’t complain.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, though Dean senses hesitation in his brother’s voice.

“What? She got the crazy eyes or something?”

“No,” Sam shrugs, picking up his beer from the bar.

“Then what?”

“Nothing.”

Dean looks his brother over, decides Sam isn’t going to spill the beans and also decides he isn’t in the mood for prying—he is way too sober for that (and let’s face it, even when he’s drunk, he’s not much for share-and-care). He nods, takes another swig from the bottle, then grins when he sees a perfect target for Sammy: girl-next-door cute, shoulder-length dark auburn hair, big hazel-grey eyes, and—wait for it—looking anxiously between her phone and the door as though she’s waiting for someone who probably isn’t going to show.

“C’mon,” he grins, dragging his brother over. Before Sam can protest, Dean walks up, taps the girl on the shoulder, gives a charming smile, and says “Hi, have you met Sam?”

Cue bitchface number two. Dean smiles, claps his brother on the shoulder, and saunters to a booth at the back of the bar. He glances up, sees Sam—the bitchface having disappeared—and the girl talking, and pulls his phone out. _I’m not whipped,_ he lamely defends to himself even as he texts Cas.

 

**_9:41 pm_ **

Hows it going?

**_9:43 pm_ **

Charlie and Claire made me go shopping at the mall for clothes.

**_9:43 pm_ **

I’m not sure I liked the experience, but they assured me that you would like my selections.

**_9:44 pm_ **

Haha dunno if i should be worried or excited

**_9:45 pm_ **

Btw case is all wrapped up. Be on our way home in the am. Unless sammys busy…

**_9:46 pm_ **

Why would Sam be busy if the case is over?

**_9:46 pm_ **

Cause im an awesome big brother and wingman

**_9:47 pm_ **

And before u ask…a wingman is when u help ur buddy get laid. Nothing to do with actual wings. Tho…i guess im a wingman… ;)

**_9:47 pm_ **

I do know what a ‘wingman’ is, Dean. I did, after all, learn what it’s like to be human from you. And you know I don’t have wings anymore.

**_9:48 pm_ **

Good point and i was jk :)

**_9:48 pm_ **

Why are you allowed to use emoticons but I’m not?

**_9:49 pm_ **

Cause reading texts from u with them was like deciphering a freaking god tablet. Moderation or ur cut off

**_9:50 pm_ **

I’m not sure you’re the best person to advise moderation on anything, Dean…

**_9:50 pm_ **

Ouch. Low blow cas. Low blow

**_9:51 pm_ **

:-P You started it, with the wings comment.

**_9:51 pm_ **

Fair enough. That was kind of a dick move. Miss u

**_9:52 pm_ **

Miss you, too. I love you. Call me when you ‘hit the road’ tomorrow.

**_9:52 pm_ **

Same. I will

 

Dean puts his phone away just as Sam slides in to the booth across from him, and while Sam doesn’t look upset, he definitely isn’t sporting the face of a guy about to get lucky.

“Strike out?” Dean asks, somewhat sympathetically.

“Not really. Just wasn’t really interested. Can’t believe you pulled a Barney Stinson on me. Or that I even know that reference. You and your crappy TV.”

“What, it’s not _that_ bad of a show, for a sitcom. Plus, it’s on reruns like 24/7.”

Sam studies him for a minute and Dean has a sneaking suspicion he’s not going to like what his brother comes up with next.

“You know, Ted could give Cas a run for his money in the sex hair department…” Sam taunts slyly.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Dude, I can’t fucking believe we’re having this conversation. Ted’s whiny and annoying. Now, that Robin, though, hmm…”

 _The red head ain't bad either,_ he thinks.

“Right, sure, Robin,” Sam agrees matter-of-factly. He pretends to think for a minute before grinning deviously. "NPH."

“Shut up,” Dean growls, causing Sam to just grin broadly. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Sam laughs, smirking smugly over the rim of his beer glass.

Dean shakes his head, then takes a drink from his beer. If someone had told him a year ago he’d be having conversations like this with his brother, he wouldn’t have believed them and he probably would have panicked. He’d more or less come out to Charlie during a semi-drunken phone call after the golem case with Aaron a couple years ago—he’d needed _someone_ to talk to about that whole mess—but the thought of telling Sam had scared the crap out of him, even though Charlie told him he was being stupid for worrying. She’d been right of course, which Dean had distantly realized during the whole Mark of Cain/Cas’ fall situation: Sam had just taken Dean and Cas in stride like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Then, Bobby’s spirit had shown up in the bunker a few months ago…

“Hey, Sam…how come you and Bobby had a bet, y’know, about me and Cas? Was it just ‘cause of Cas, or…?” Dean asks abruptly, not bothering to catch Sam up on the train of thought that brought him here.

Sam looks at him, surprised. Hell, Dean’s surprised, too. _I’m getting soft in my old age…_ Then, the thought of “old age” being “mid-thirties” makes him inwardly grimace: there’s a certain truth to that assessment in the world of hunters that’s none-too pleasant to think about.

Sam clears his throat. “Uh, I guess it wasn’t just Cas. You’re, um, not as subtle as you think.”

Dean raises an eyebrow in disbelief. He’d always thought he’d been pretty careful, especially when Dad was alive. “What’re you talking about?”

The younger Winchester snorts. “Want me to go through the list?”

“List?”

“Well, other than Cas, how about the deputy you hit on when you were drunk trying to get over ghost sickness? Or Nick, the siren? Or Dr. Sexy?—dude, you almost reached Becky levels of fangirling. Or how about flirting with that security guard for Charlie? Oh and Aaron, your ‘gay thing’? I could go on.”

“No, I get it,” Dean grumbles. He wonders why he brought this up at all. He decides it’s time to go with a classic Dean stand-by: deflect, deflect, deflect. “So, Sammy, talk to me. What’s the deal with not taking advantage of my awesome wingmanning? You got a girl already I don’t know about?”

“No,” Sam replies, but the response is too quick for Dean’s liking; he knows his brother too well.

“Heh. So there _is_ a girl. Or guy.” Dean ignores his brother’s eye roll. “Who am I to judge?”

Dean leans back into the seat cushions, propping an arm up on the back, and taking a swig of his beer with a smug smile. He knows he could press the matter with his brother, but he’s content to let Sam squirm in anticipation of needling. It ends up being more effective than any line of questioning Dean could’ve produced.

“Remember that rival coven case we handled a couple months ago? Where one coven was really big on defenestration?”

“Defenestration?” Dean says, arching one eyebrow.

“It means throwing people out of windows.”

“Yeah, I know what it means, Sammy. Prague Castle back a few hundred years ago or whatever.” Dean would be lying if he said he wasn’t both delighted and annoyed by the look of surprise on his brother’s face. Sam might be the brains of the Winchester family, but Dean’s no dummy. “My point was more your nerdy need to use big words when we’re at a bar drinking beers and talking about your sorry excuse for a love life.”

“Whatever.” Sam leans forward, his elbows on the table. “Anyway, remember the third victim, Rich? And then we interviewed his neighbor, Olivia?”

Dean squints with one eye trying to conjure up a face from his memory, and eventually he remembers a girl, on the stockier and curvier side of average but pretty in a way, with inquisitive brown eyes who seemed like she didn’t really buy their whole FBI shtick, though she had answered their questions.

“Yeahhhh…curly brown hair? Said she was an elementary school teacher or something, right? Kinda seemed skeptical about the whole thing?”

One half of Sam’s mouth quirks up. “Uh, yeah. I ran into her later that night at a café while I was researching and you and Cas were…at the motel. She totally called us out on the FBI crap—said her uncle was FBI and that no one from the Bureau has hair like mine, drives an ‘overcompensating’ car like the Impala while on duty, or…flirts like you and Cas.”

“What?! Oh she did _not_ say that about Baby. And me ‘n Cas were totally professional!” Dean takes an annoyed gulp of beer. “She’s right about your hair, though. Seriously. We’ve got scissors back in the bunker…”

Sam ignores his brother and just continues on. “Then told me she overheard you bitching about witches from her open window.”

“Witches freaking suck, man,” Dean argues.

“Not saying they don’t. Anyway, we ended up talking for a while and we’ve, uh, just been kinda talking since.”

Dean stares at his brother. “That’s it?”

“Mostly, yeah.”

“Just talking? Damn, Sammy. And you guys give me shit about how long it took me n’ Cas to finally do something.”

“That’s because you two are idiots. Especially you.”

“Hey, this isn’t about me.” Dean waves a hand, cutting off that branch of the conversation. “So how come you and little Miss I-insult-perfectly-good-and-totally-awesome-cars-for-no-reason aren’t—”

“I think she was insulting the car’s owner, not the car.”

“—doing more than just talking?” Dean glares at his brother at the interruption, and lifts his index finger from the neck of his beer bottle, pointing it at Sam, to punctuate his question.

“We have, Dean. Do you really think I’ve been on that many trips to find research materials the past few weekends?”

Dean considers this. Honestly, he hadn’t given it much thought, though he had found it a bit strange, given how much lore the bunker contains, but he had just chalked it up to Sam being Sam and called it a day.

“You sly dog. How come you didn’t tell me?” Dean meant it as an off-handed jab, one brother to another, but Sam’s shoulders tense and Dean realizes he’s somehow hit a sore spot. “Sammy? Everything ok?”

“Yeah,” Sam tries to brush it off, but that isn't flying with Dean.

“She break up with you or something? Decide this whole hunter thing is too much?” Dean knows how that can go and how much it sucks. Lisa, Cassie…

“No, nothing like that. It’s just…I dunno.” Sam takes a deep pull from his beer. “Can’t say I’ve had much luck, can I? Jess, Sarah, Madison, Amelia…Ruby…”

 _Fuck. And Sam doesn’t even know about the shit Gabriel pulled two weeks ago…_ Dean watches his brother for a moment, trying to think of what he could possibly say to him. He scratches the back of his head, then settles back in the booth.

“Look, Sam, I’m kinda crap with this advice stuff. You know me, I’m not exactly a skipping through the fields optimist. I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. But you…You’re the one who always says there’s a freaking light at the end of the tunnel. You’re the one who does shit like taking on fucking Lucifer or doing the Demon Trials because you think there might be a shot that it’ll turn out ok for you and if it doesn’t, at least you made things better for everyone else.”

“So you’re saying I’m a naïve dumbass?”

“What? Christ, no, man. I said I was crap at this. Just listen. What I’m saying is, if you like this Olivia chick and she likes you and she already knows about all the crap we deal with, then fucking go for it. Don’t pull a me and start telling yourself it’s all gonna go to hell. I’ve got that covered, thanks. Plus, if you start giving up on that light at the end of the tunnel, then I’m gonna have to keep giving you more pep talks like this, and shit, that’s just _not_ something I want to do. You’re the cheerleader in this family, Samantha, not me. So, give her a chance.”

“Wow, uh, thanks, Dean. That’s really nice of you,” Sam replies dryly.

“I think I made my point.”

“Yeah,” Sam snorts. “I’d be ok with not getting one of those speeches again.”

“Exactly.” Dean toasts Sam with his beer, finishes it off, then slides out from the bench. “I’m grabbing another beer. And I’m gonna take my sweet-ass time doing it so that you can go have a chick-flick moment and call your girl.”

“…while you call Cas?” Sam smirks.

“Fuck you.” Dean flips off his brother as he makes his way up to the bar. Leaning against the polished wood, he looks back and is pleased to see Sam unfold his Sasquatch frame from the booth and make his way to the door, cellphone in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What I love about Sam's list about Dean's bisexuality is that these are just the CANON examples that Sam would've known about (because obviously he wouldn't have known about the WWII soldier Dean blatantly checks out in 1944). Who knows what other examples Sam could've come up with that we never saw on screen?


	2. Wingwomen

“What up, bitches?” Charlie carols as she gets out of her bright yellow car, lugging a messenger bag and backpack with her. She tucks a loose strand of red hair behind her ear as she goes up to give both Cas and Claire tight hugs. 

“Welcome back, Charlie,” Cas greets warmly, and Claire echoes his smile.

“Thanks, bestie. Hope you don’t mind me crashing for the night even if the boys aren’t here,” Charlie beams.

“’Course not,” Claire chimes in with a grin. “It’ll be nice to finally have some girl time around here. Do you have any idea what it’s like being the only one around Dean, Cas, and Sam?”

“Sure do,” Charlie nods sympathetically, thinking of all the times she’s spent with the Winchesters. She loves hanging out with her honorary brothers, and she can roll with the guys like the best of them, but she can imagine that after a while the testosterone levels might be a bit much to live with every day.  _So,_  she thinks wryly,  _guess it kinda works out, being a lesbian and all…_ "I was the original token Bunker Chick."

Cas, however, lets his eyes crinkle in Charlie's direction before rolling up at the teenager's remark. “Claire, as a former angel…”

“Yeah, yeah, you were really just a multidimensional wave of celestial intent and gender means nothing to you and blah blah blah the only reason you call yourself a guy is because of my dad,” Claire waves off Cas with an indulgent but resigned grin.

Charlie just watches the exchange with wide, amused eyes, and shifts her bag on her shoulder. “Well, now that we’ve got _that_ established…” she remarks dryly. “So, gonna let me into Winchester HQ?”

 

 

“So what do you want to do tonight?” Charlie asks after depositing her things in the room she keeps at the bunker. They’re standing in Cas and Dean’s room, Cas having just brought a load of laundry he had started before Charlie arrived up from the basement. Charlie eyes the basket. “Holy flannel, Batman. Is that seriously all you have, Cas?”

Cas frowns. “What’s wrong with flannel? And this isn’t all mine, it’s Dean’s as well. We, um…” He blushes and Charlie grins at the sight. “…we tend to share much of our clothing.”

“D’awwww,” Charlie teases. “ _So_  not letting Dean live that one down. But seriously, I mean, I get it for hunting: it’s durable and practical and I'm pretty sure wearing it is like Rule #1 in the Hunter's Handbook under Uniform and Etiquette, but don’t you have any other clothing for just hanging out or whatever?”

Cas shrugs, but is spared responding as Claire walks in. “Nah, they never go shopping unless it’s to a thrift store or somewhere they can get  _more_  plaid. I mean, can you picture Dean at a mall?”

At this, Charlie lets out a hearty guffaw. “Ohhh, Claire. The things I know about Dean…”

Claire’s eye go wide with anticipation of good gossip and blackmail. “Like what?” she asks slyly.

Charlie smirks, then walks over to the closet. She shoves the Fed suits, of which there are probably more than actually needed, across the bar on their hangers—although she pauses and swings out a nice tailored peacoat momentarily to show the room, raising her brows significantly—then pulls forward a few dry cleaning bags with outfits in them. “Dude’s a total clotheshorse, even if he’d never admit it.”

Cas rubs the back of his neck, a gesture Charlie is almost positive he’s picked up from the elder Winchester, and looks guilty for not stopping Charlie or defending Dean’s honor. Claire just looks over the outfits with amused wonder.

“What are all these from? Obviously, this one’s his LARPing outfit,” she says, holding out a brown tunic with chainmail and darker brown legging-style pants. “But I don’t recognize the others.”

“This one’s from his trip to 1861 to find Samuel Colt and a Phoenix,” Cas explains, pointing to the first. “He was, ah, very interested in choosing his outfit. I think the ‘Western’ experience reminded him of  _Back to the Future III_ , although he also likened the case to _Star Trek IV_.”

Charlie chucks him on the arm. “Look at you, all pop-culture-ified. Dean and I’ve been a good influence on you.”

“Is it bad that you tell me Dean’s been to 1861 and I’m not even surprised?” Claire looks at the next outfit. "How about this one?"

"1940s. Dean met Elliot Ness." Charlie grins at Cas. "He tried on the suit once to show me. I'm gay, and I still gotta say, damn Cas, you picked good."

At Charlie's cheeky wink, Cas' blush deepens but he gives a small, pleased smile. Claire, in true teenager fashion, pointedly ignores the discussion of her parental figure's looks and her other parental figure's appreciation of said looks. 

"Ok, so he kept his time-travel stuff. And I know you guys go get Fed suits 'cause you have to. Still can't picture him shopping at like a normal store for normal clothes. Sam, I can picture, but Dean?" Claire shrugs.

"He helped me pick out an outfit for my first case," Charlie says smugly.

"He...helped?" Claire chokes out.

Charlie crinkles her nose. "I had to buy a pantsuit—I try not to talk about it. But yeah, despite cutting off my awesome montage, he was actually a pretty good shopping buddy."

Cas huffs a laugh. "I'm fairly certain Dean would react strongly to anyone calling him a 'good shopping buddy.'"

"Which is exactly why I'm saving this nugget for the perfect moment," Claire smirks deviously. 

"I would be careful with that, Claire. Remember that street can go both ways, as I believe the saying goes," Cas advises serenely.

"Wait, what do you mean?" The girl's eyes are wide in shock and worry.

Cas just gives her his best innocent look that fools absolutely no one and goes back to folding the laundry. Charlie almost literally bites her tongue trying not to ask what dirt Cas has on Claire. Maybe she'll be able to wheedle it out of him later.

"Fine. Be that way," Claire grumbles, leaning against the doorjamb with her arms crossed.

Charlie closes the closet and grabs a shirt to help fold. "We really need to get you something different—you know, spice things up a bit," she says after her second plaid shirt gets added to the growing pile.

"Agreed. You went from doof to Dean and Sam clone," Claire remarks. "Waddya say, Cas? How 'bout you let me and Charlie take you out?"

A look of consternation passes over Cas' face as he glances between the two women. Charlie gives the guy her best grin with just a hint of puppy-dog eyes. She hasn't known Cas  _that_  long, but she knows she's got him just as wrapped around her finger as her overgrown pseudo-big brothers. Cas relents when he sees the expressions of excitement and pleading on Charlie and Claire's faces. 

"I suppose that could be...fun," he shrugs. Charlie beams at Claire.

 

Over the course of the last few years, Charlie has become used to the strange, but it doesn’t fail to amuse her to see Cas, former Angel of the Lord, warrior of Heaven, and smiter of all things evil, completely overwhelmed by something as ordinary as a mall. The only other times she has been shopping with Cas are when he and Dean roped Charlie in to helping them find something for Claire for her birthday back in April, and then again for Christmas. But they had managed to avoid the mall both times and just gone to smaller local shops.

"You ok, Cas?" Charlie asks him as he surveys the brightly lit and gleaming mall with throngs of shoppers pushing around their little trio.

"Of course," he covers, squaring his shoulders. "I'm just always fascinated by the extreme value you humans place on material possessions."

"Ok, first off, you know the rules: none of this 'you humans' stuff like you're an alien sent to study us when we're, ya know, among humans. Wasn't that like the first thing Dean and Sam taught you, after the whole personal space business and 'don't talk about demons and angels' and 'don't stare like a creeper?'" Claire admonishes with a sarcastic grin.

Cas flicks a brow up ever so slightly. "I hardly think anyone is paying attention to our conversation at the present, and I do know how to conduct myself in society. I did live as a human without Dean and Sam for several months on my own once, you know, and I fell almost a year ago. And I'm not an alien, though the metaphor does have some merit, despite its inaccuracies."

"All right, enough, you two. Let's find a store for Cas here and get our montage on, bitches." Charlie twists slightly on her toes as she looks around the mall for a good place to start.

"I know what a montage is, but I don't understand what it has to do with finding 'suitable' clothing."

"Just you wait, Cas, just you wait," Charlie smiles with a fond pat on his arm. 

"C'mon," Claire says, taking Cas by the elbow and dragging him off in the direction of a store that seems to specialize in menswear. 

Charlie is relieved when they enter the store that there isn't a single flannel item in sight. Not that she has anything against plaid, and hell she has a few Winchester-approved shirts herself, but if she wants to get Cas to figure out his own style separate from Dean, she doesn't want him to fall back on the familiar. Cas, however, looks over the shirts and dark wash jeans dubiously, and she knows he's evaluating them from a hunter's perspective.

"Dude, these don't need to stand up to a werewolf attack," she whispers with an eye on the clerk nearby but out of earshot. "That's what the more rugged flannel and jeans you have already are for. This is for when, you know, you go out somewhere or whatever."

Cas' brows furrow in confusion. "We tend to frequent places where our 'typical' clothes seem to be the norm."

Claire sighs with exasperation while simultaneously rebraiding her long blonde hair with deft fingers in one of the store’s mirrors (Charlie is only a little jealous at the girl’s skill…definitely only a little). "I love Dean, don't get me wrong, but man, he's got like the worst dating skills ever. He only ever takes you to diners and dive bars, doesn't he?" the teen asks.

"...yes?" Cas admits.

Charlie exchanges a significant look with the younger girl. "No worries," Charlie smiles. "We'll get you all fixed up and Dean won't want to waste you on dive bars."

"I enjoy those places as well," Cas protests lightly.

"That's because you don't know what you're missing," Charlie argues. "There's more to life than a place where you can get a two dollar beer and a bacon cheeseburger, not that those aren't awesome, too."

Claire nods in agreement, then moves off to a rack of collared shirts, flicking through them quickly. At that moment, a clerk finishes with another customer and approaches them.

"Is there anything I can help you with today, sir?" the employee asks in that patented customer-service cheerful tone.

Cas looks to Claire and Charlie, and Charlie chimes in. "We need to get him a few nice outfits, nothing too fancy, though."

"Great. I'll set up a fitting room for you and you can just add your selections to the hangers in there whenever you're ready," the clerk beams. "My name is Julianne by the way, and you are...?"

"Cas," he supplies, offering a hand, which the clerk takes. 

"Pleasure, Cas," Julianne says, flashing them a bright smile. "Would you prefer us to help you choose some outfits, or would you rather browse with your...wife?"

Charlie tries to choke back a weird mix of laughter and indignation. "Just friends," Charlie explains, then decides Julianne's pretty cute and worth messing with a bit, if only for the stupid heteronormative assumption. She winks at the clerk, "He's not exactly my type."

Julianne's cheeks redden. "Oh, of course," she agrees, a little too brightly.

Claire comes over with two shirts, one with light grey and steely blue pinstripes and another a pale pink. "I'm not sure what size you are," she confesses holding the shirts up to Cas' torso. 

Charlie catches Julianne's eyes flick between Cas and Claire, clearly trying to determine what a forty-year-old man is doing hanging out with a teenage girl who is trying to dress him, but also obviously trying not to ask after her initial faux-pas.

"Claire, why don't you let your dad have Julianne fit him for shirts," Charlie advises, slightly emphasizing the moniker; Julianne visibly relaxes at that and Charlie fights the urge to roll her eyes. 

Julianne moves up and casts a critical and professional eye over Cas, then pulls a few shirts out—the same ones Claire had chosen, just in different sizes. "I think these would probably fit, but with the more tailored cut, you might have to try a few to find what you're comfortable with. Your current shirt is a little bigger and looser than these."

Cas nods, studying the shirts, then looks down at his own red plaid. "I think this one was originally my partner's shirt," he informs the clerk.

Julianne smiles indulgently, and Charlie once more resists letting her eyes find the ceiling, worried that Julianne is going to do the whole “OMG gay guys and shopping for clothes is just so fabulous and adorable! Let’s be best friends forever!” crap. Then she smiles to herself, glad that Cas is too socially oblivious to notice and that Dean isn’t here because the dude never travels anywhere unarmed, so that situation might have ended badly.

“Ok, Cas, let’s fix you up,” Charlie grins, pushing the him towards the fitting room with the shirts. “Ooh, wait, you need pants, too.”

“I have—”

“Don’t even start with me, angel,” Charlie warns, and Claire smirks.

This time the younger girl grabs Cas and Charlie watches, amused to think this formerly powerful celestial being is currently being dragged around a clothing store by a geeky hacker and a teenage girl. Then again, Charlie had expected Cas to be shorter when she first met him, thanks to Dean’s descriptions of the “nerdy angel in a trenchcoat” (of course, she realizes now that back then, Dean was probably the only one Cas would let drag him around like that, what with their whole profound-bond-he’s-my-angel-and-he’s-my-hunter-even-if-we-won’t-admit-it thing).

Five minutes later, they’ve loaded Cas up with jeans and shirts and have ushered him into the fitting room. Charlie gets her phone out, quickly thumbing to her montage playlist, queuing up “I’m Walking On Sunshine.” Claire looks over her shoulder and quirks an amused eyebrow.

“Don’t judge, Padawan,” Charlie arches her own eyebrow at the younger woman. Claire’s mouth twists up at the corners.

“Not judging at all,” she replies. “Just can’t wait to see Cas’ expression when you make him model.”

Charlie flicks the music on just as Cas emerges from the room wearing the pink shirt and a pair of dark wash jeans. Cas is picking at the left sleeve of the shirt hesitantly as he emerges, and he starts slightly as the music kicks on. Claire snaps a picture on her phone, perfectly capturing the bewilderment on Cas’ face.

“Looking good, Cas,” Claire cheers, and Charlie has to agree.

“All right, give us a spin,” the hacker instructs, twirling a finger. Cas’ eyes grow wide and he tilts his head.

“Why?” Cas straightens a cuff nervously.

“So we can see the whole outfit, dummy,” Charlie chides. She has to admit, the outfit does look really good on Cas. She gives herself a mental high-five on Dean’s behalf. Slowly, Cas turns, and Charlie is relieved to see a cautious smile creep over Cas’ lips as he catches himself in the mirror. But, the smile doesn’t last and his face falls.

“I know that…” Cas pauses, eyes searching for Julianne or any other customers in the vicinity, then continues when he sees there are none, “…in this particular human society, this color is not typically considered very masculine. I don’t think this is something Dean would be comfortable wearing.”

“We’re not buying clothes for _Dean_ , Cas.” Claire rolls her eyes, then smirks. “Although, maybe we should pick up something pink and sparkly for him…” Charlie nudges her and gives her a pointed look before getting up and giving Cas a pat on the upper arm.

“It’s ok to want something for yourself, you know. And too bad for Dean if he doesn’t wear pink—he’s missing out. Pink’s a great color and you should get to choose your own clothes. Not _everything_ has to be plaid or Dean’s hand-me-downs.” She smiles conspiratorially, then crooks a finger so he lowers his ear. “And ok, Claire was only half-right when she said we’re not literally buying clothes for Dean…but, trust me, get an outfit like that and Dean’ll be the one thanking us.”  

Cas flushes lightly, but he gives her a grin. “It is a nice color,” he concedes.

A question occurs to Charlie, and she's fairly certain that it's not one that either of the brothers would ever think to ask. "Cas?" 

"Mm?"

"You do like 'guy clothes', right? I mean, if you'd rather try women's clothing, you know that's totally cool?" Charlie asks, trying to inject her sheepishness with a little confidence. She kind of feels bad for just assuming he'd want more men's clothing, even though he'd said practically as soon as she'd arrived at the bunker that he considers gender more of a human formality than an intrinsic part of his identity.

Cas blinks in surprise, but he lets the question turn over in his mind for a moment before responding. He looks down at his current wardrobe, then back into the mirror. "I think," he says slowly, "I do prefer traditional men's clothing, if only because I associate clothing with my human self, and my human self is essentially male. I imagine if I'd had a female vessel from the start, I would prefer women's clothing. Although, I've noticed a great deal of women's clothing tends to be incredibly impractical."

Charlie snorts in amusement. "Heels suck to walk in, but damn do they make a pair of legs look good." Charlie would just prefer if the legs that look good are someone else's (so she has moments of shallowness, sue her). Again, Cas lets the thought percolate, and he shrugs and smiles in agreement. Charlie feels a little better: if former Angels of the Lord can appreciate a little eye-candy, then so can she.

“I suppose I should try the others?” he asks with a nod in the direction of the changing room.

“Totally. I got like ten songs on my montage playlist. We got time.”

In the end, they convince Cas to get four new shirts—the pink and the grey-blue striped Claire had selected, a solid blue that Charlie picked that makes Cas’ eyes pop, and a mossy green that Cas seemed particularly drawn to—and a few pairs of nicely cut dark blue and black jeans. As they leave the store, Charlie makes sure she gives Julianne a significant stink-eye, though, as the clerk had asked Charlie to turn down or turn off the music so as not to ‘disturb’ the other customers.

“So, Cas, what’d ya think of your first non-huntery shopping trip?” Claire asks, nudging him with her elbow as they make their way through the parking lot.

“It was interesting,” Cas allows. “I’m not sure I’m much of a…‘shopaholic.’”

Charlie snorts at Cas' awkward use of the idiom, and loops an arm through his. “Claire, I’m officially cutting Cas off from watching reality TV with you.”

“What? It’s like a train wreck: you wanna look away but you can’t. No one ever claimed it was _good_ TV.” Claire crosses her arms in mock-petulance.

“It’s a fascinating study of human culture,” Cas says gravely, as though imparting great wisdom to the two women.

“Yeah, ok, Spock,” Charlie laughs, unlocking the little yellow car.

 

 

The next night, Charlie slings her messenger bag onto her bed in her little apartment before flopping backwards onto the comforter. She loves the boys and Claire, and the bunker’s awesome, but there’s something to be said about being home. Her phone chirps from her jacket pocket and she groans at the thought of moving her hand all of three inches to get it, but she does. She grins when she sees she has a new message from her handmaiden.

 

**_8:12 pm_ **

My Queen u are the best wingwoman ever

**_8:13 pm_ **

Duh. You owe me like a bagillion high-fives. Or Scar Jo’s phone number (make a crossroads deal to get it, I don’t care). Now take your man out somewhere nice...NOT the local dive.

**_8:13 pm_ **

Nice as in there are no pool tables or darts. OR PLAID.

**_8:14 pm_ **

Nah we're staying in tonight ;) ;) 

**_8:15 pm_ **

Go get 'm, tiger :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos appreciated!


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